Relief (SWF)

A strong breeze moves this dramatic sky, changing moment by moment—
pink granite clouds curling around one another,
pushing...piling up...and passing on.
Perhaps to end in rain, in the night--
the kind that falls softly and brings with it, a cool morning.



I walk here to clean my spirit—
throw the windows open wide on the cares of the day,
let the breezes lift them from me,
draw in the fresh, new air.

soybeans sprouting

And discover this new spring green,
the first emergent growth,
the promise of this field, for this season--
to grow, each day, a little stronger.

First Green

corn stalks in field after harvest

The field behind our house is farmed in rotations of corn and soybeans. Each spring, I watch and wait to see, for this year, which it will be.
The low, rolling fields of soy, or the narrow path between fields of corn, so different, both lovely.
One day, though, neither, as I watch them one by one, stand empty--then sprout a row of houses.

See more Skywatch here.

The Waiting Field (SWF)

Corn Field

More rain just minutes away, still, the waiting field close enough for another day’s quick visit—open space and evening solitude, a welcome walk down the lane.
The weeds here, not yet tamed.

yellow rocket

butterweed
cressleaf groundsel

And, as it is each spring, for me to wonder as to what will replace this wildness, I hope for its turning, yet again—
for crops of corn or soy.

But, as each neighboring field is planted, and this one still stands under golden tops, acres across, I worry it may have seen its last season—sold for a greater price to one who will title it for what it once was, “Deerfield Crossing” or “Fox Run.”
I will always find the name, corn field, most satisfying.

Common Sooty Wings
at the road's edge

For more information on cressleaf groundsel, look here.

See more Skywatch here.

Becoming Round (SWF)

Behind the pond and beyond a barbed wire fence, I can walk out onto the farmland bordering our property. Here, the tall oaks draw a noticeable line where untamed grass and scrub meet furrowed field. And I can stand with feet in both places—shelter and a yawning space.

Into the chilly morning air, I stepped—and stepped over again, onto brown earth, where stalks still stand knee-high. Not a car passes down the little lane that divides this field from the next, and it would appear I am alone on this stage under a bright blue autumn sky.

From here, hunters will stand and fire shots above, as the geese drawn to spilled corn take flight and swing in a wide arc above our pond.
From the land I cannot protect, to the land I can, and will.

Though most has been caught and carted away, a few scattered cobs have escaped the harvest—plumpness in buff jackets, lying freely in the open air. And so, I stole one and then another, until my jacket, tethered at the waist, became full to my chin.
And I returned home, satisfyingly round.

Outside my window, a chipmunk is rounding himself, as well, with fallen seeds from a small tube feeder in the Hawthorn.
Each, in our own way, rearranging our world.
Filling pockets with riches.
Scurrying home.

Corncob left behind

Frosty Field

See more Skywatch here.

Catching Clouds

I’ve learned to take my camera many places.
Often, the sights I’m after, find me--without my looking.
Yet, I leave it behind for my short drive to work.
For what could I possibly need it?

Monday afternoon, I stepped outside, leaving the darkness of the indoor world behind me.
The beauty of the sky was so striking, I felt myself draw in a breath in awe.
Feet on the dark, dirty pavement, looking up--
an exquisite work of art.

From edge to edge, small puffy clouds covered bright blue.
Like bits of sheep’s wool torn and scattered,
densely across the sky.
I raced home, to my camera, waiting in its place by the back door.

And caught what was left of the drifting puffs, as they spread beyond the field.

Clouds over Cornfield

See more Skywatch here.

Up to my Knees in Grasshoppers

New England Aster in front of cornfield

Almost daily, I walk our “block.”
Past an assortment of homes, old and new. To my favorite stretch of country lane—the path between the fields.
This year, a harvest of soybeans and corn.

Wildlife is drawn here, as am I.
From within the soybean field, deer raise their heads, chest-deep in the amber stems. Watching my progress down the lane, stepping cautiously toward the safety of the tree line.
From the shortened stalks of corn, killdeer and mourning doves rise, and spread their calls over the now empty, open space. Canada Geese stand feeding in small groups, their long black necks hiding in the vertical shadows of the field.

I found a very large grasshopper here, tangled in the grass of the road’s edge. With strikingly yellow legs and black chevrons decorating them.
And started reading about grasshoppers when I returned home.

The hundreds of possibilities.
Entire manuals and field guides devoted to a single insect.
Their transformation into swarms of locusts.
And international studies as to how and why swarms occur.



And I, with this simply beautiful insect perched on my hand, cannot understand it.

She does not seem at all concerned.
All that matters to her, is cleaning her antennae.

Differential Grasshopper, Melanoplus differentialis?

cornfield

click photos to enlarge

For more Camera Critters, look here!

Within the Fields of Gold

The world is full of deception.
At every turn, something is not what it first appears to be.
And a closer look reveals the true being.

Autumn Evening

Even in our field, now quiet of birds and chirping insects, except for a lone cricket in the tall grass, a deceiver is among us.


Winding around the heavily flowered stems of goldenrod, peeking from the bright stalks as I walk past, Locust Borer beetles. Their inch-long slender black and yellow striped bodies more like those of yellow jackets than the harmless (to humans) beetles they are. Drawn to visit these flowers of fall as adults, the larva feed, tunneling within the branches of Black Locust, a common tree to fill disturbed areas of the Midwest.

Black Locust, Robinia pseudoacacia
spring blossoms

With red legs and long antennae, they have emerged as adults, buzzing from one golden top to the next.

Locust Borer, Megacyllene robiniae

Beside the honeybees and wasps.
As if they were one and the same.
Yet, deceivers.

View more ABC Wednesdays here!

Woolly Bear

Soft feet crossing heat
as cars and trucks fly past them.
Oh, these bears can run!

Yellow Woolly Bear crossing road

Days of Clouded Skies

I walked this lane days ago, under pink clouds against blue, their edges brilliant, as if the door to heaven had been left open--just a crack.
It was an image too perfect. Of a full moon rising while, still, the sun crept low.
And, as too often is the case, I without my camera, could not capture it.

Day after day, I returned to the spot.
But perfect skies had moved on.

A reminder that even this day, with its tumbling gray heaviness, is like no other.
And I must capture it while I can.

See more Skywatch here.

The changing landscape

The field behind our woods has been plowed and planted. And the first green to appear reveals that, this year, it is to be corn.
I've never given it a second thought. The choice of crops. The alternating cycle between corn and soybeans has, in the past, seemed simple.
And although I prefer to walk this lane between fields of soy, where afternoon breezes make the golden plants sway in autumn, the tall stalks of corn will soon transform this path into a tunnel of sorts.
A changed place.

Filling this brown space with a green leafy wall, hiding our woods.
And the geese and deer that walk here.

I wonder if, this year, it is something other than "simple."
And if this field now grows, not fodder, but fuel.
Ethanol.

A wind turbine spins gloriously as the clouds pass.
The landscape is changing.

Thanks to Wigger's World for hosting Skywatch Friday each week at his site!

March skies passing

Daylight stays with us long enough now to be able to enjoy sunshine after dinner.
And, for the first time this spring, a walk sans winter wrappings.
The remnants of our rainy day blow past.







The trees are still bare against the brilliant blue sky. On the pavement beneath them, their dainty red flowers scattered and fallen in March's final breeze.
The air smells of freshness and frogs.








Spring rains puddle in the cornfield--

And the wide open space of this country road fades into darkness.

Have you seen...

Soybeans and corn--the two crops this rural area produces--flank the sides of the road I walk. Every spring, we wonder which will be planted where, and wait to see what sprouts.
Our summer is measured by the growth of the crops, and winter's approach, by the harvest. There's not a tree to break the January wind that howls down this lane--enough to freeze your cheeks and make your eyes tear.
It's not yet time to see the changes spring will bring here--little green onions and the killdeer.
But, every day, I look, hoping.


The frost on the cobs,

and the husks

are its fruits of this season.

"Have you seen...." is an effort to discover the unusual beauty in things not usually appreciated for their beauty.

I’ve never understood the lack of respect for land.
Why it would be considered an act of rudeness to empty a car’s ashtray in someone’s yard, yet the pavement of intersections is deep with cigarette butts.
Why the muddy pond bottoms bear more aluminum cans, than rocks.

Or, why the road’s edge in front of my home is free from trash, while this field down the lane is scattered with beer bottles and the ditch full of discarded tires.

Is it because if no one catches us, it’s ok? Or, are there different rules for our behavior toward someone’s personal property versus “vacant” land?

Because every acre is someone’s property, even public lands.
And, as humans, the impact we leave upon this earth far outweighs our stature in it.